I stifle a laugh. I used to have this exact album. Well, Mom did. She would blast the melodic wailing, reminding Liz and me that this was our heritage (as if my auburn hair wasn’t constant reminder enough of our Irish roots). It’s the type of CD that would immediately lose Finn cool points with his tech-bro friends, so naturally, I have to call him out on it. I’m racking my brain trying to remember any Gaelic song titles I can work into a sentence, when suddenly the phone at my feet buzzes.
Finn raises an eyebrow at me. “That could be important.”
I lean forward to grab it. “More otter pics from your mom?”
“Emma…” he warns.
“Ooh, is it your girlfriend calling to check in?” The phone continues to buzz in my palm and I check the caller ID. It’s an unsaved San Francisco number. “Wow, you don’t even have her number saved to your contacts? That’s harsh.” I have no idea if Finn is seeing anyone at the moment, and his face is betraying nothing. I guess I could justaskhim if he actually has a girlfriend, but first I’d have to care. Which I don’t.
Finn snorts. “I’m sure your boyfriend is saved with about five emojis.” He makes another swipe to grab the phone,catching a bit of side-boob in the process. “Did you go with the eggplant, or keep it classy and stick to the kissy face?”
“Hey, no redirects allowed.” The phone keeps ringing. “Is this chick stalking you? Need me to intervene?”
“I think I can handle it,” he says, holding out his hand.
“Oh, I know you are capable of juggling multiple ladies,” I say. Finn winces slightly but doesn’t look over at me. “Just tell me this.” I’m still clutching the phone to my chest. “Does whoever’s calling actually know she’s not your girlfriend? Or are we still out here breaking hearts?”
“Trust me, I’m very open about the fact that I’m not in a relationship place right now.” Finn’s eyes are on the road, and I’m a little deflated that he’s being so serious, even while admitting that he’s basically a self-proclaimed player. I don’t know why, but I’m in a teasing mood. Finn brings it out of me.
“You know, maybe I should take this for you. You are driving, after all.” I pretend to press the answer button on the phone and hold it to my ear. “Sexual Emoji Department, Emma Townsend speaking.”
“Hello?”
A tinny voice emits from Finn’s phone, startling us both. I involuntarily toss the phone back to the floor then quickly grab it and pass it over to Finn. “Shit,” I whisper. “I am so sorry.”
He glances at the screen. “It’s work,” he says to me, and then into the phone he answers with a gruff “Hughes here.”
I curl away from Finn, pressing my body into the passenger door, as if perhaps I’ll be able to melt into the smooth leather interior.
Desperate for any distraction from my mortification, I pull out my own phone and scroll through my work inbox.There’s a meeting invitation from my boss for Monday morning with just two words in the subject line:Performance Review.I accept the meeting and close out my email. Great. Now I’ll have that hanging over my head like a guillotine blade all weekend.
I take a deep breath in, hold it for seven seconds, then exhale for eight, just like the antianxiety app taught me.
Finn wraps up his call, placing his phone back in the cup holder, where I don’t even dare to look at it.
“Sorry about that,” I say sheepishly.
“That was one of my top investors.” He stares straight ahead out the windshield, so it’s hard to tell how pissed he is.
“Shit. Seriously, Finn, I am so sorry. Did I screw anything up for you?”
“Just a multimillion-dollar sale.”
My jaw drops. I’m about to start groveling when I notice the corner of his mouth twitch. Finally, he looks over at me, and when he does, I can see that I haven’t actually ruined his career with my stupid joke.
“Screw you,” I say, relieved. I punch my window-down button defiantly. Despite Finn’s counterargument, Icansmell the salt air. I take a deep breath, not bothering to count my inhale this time. Traffic has cleared a bit, so we’re moving with speed now. The wind whips my hair around my face, getting caught in my mouth, but I don’t care. I’m suddenly transported back to bus rides to debate tournaments when Finn and I would pass the time by playing round after round of truth or dare. I glance over at him, trying to reconcile this version of Finn with the kid I met in middle school—shy, and sweet, but with a biting wit that could surprise you. The breeze ruffles the sleeve ofhis shirt, and for a moment, I can almost seehim—and not this semi-stranger that Finn has become.
“I am selling my company though,” he says, raising his voice over the sound of the air rushing by us. “Or really, I’ve sold my company. It’s just paperwork at this point.”
Things begin to click together. The investing, the Singer, the second-nicest cottage at an incredibly expensive hotel… suddenly I’m thinking the phrasemultimillion-dollar salemight not have been part of the joke. I roll my window back up and look over at him.
“Oh, wow. Congrats.” I almost wince at how sullen I sound. Sure, Finn may have stomped on my tender heart more than once, but why shouldn’t he be a crazy-successful entrepreneur? It’s not like I’ve spent the last five years praying for his demise. If it weren’t for our respective friendships with Sybil keeping us tethered to the same gravitational force, my interactions with Finn would be negligible. I couldn’t care less how many classic cars he owns or how many perfectly tailored T-shirts he can afford. It’s just that my own current professional situation is a nightmare, all my friends are living somewhere else, and my love life’s on ice. (Alas, no eggplant emoji to speak of. My most recent relationship ended last fall. He always put his wet coffee spoon back into the sugar bowl. Enough said.) Work is all I have right now. It’s rough to see so many of my contemporaries thriving as full-blown, successful adults, while I’m barely managing to hang on to my job.
Until a few months ago, I had actually been doing really well. I was on my way to becoming one of the youngest senior designers in company history. But then the Hansons came along. They were a couple from Dallas who’d recentlypurchased a gorgeous, neoclassical mansion in Highland Park. Excited by the hometown connection, I lobbied my boss hard to let me take the lead on the project. She relented when the Hansons mentioned how much they liked the foyer I’d worked on here in NYC.
I put together my pitch and flew home to Dallas.
It was a shit show.
